before and after
by writingmyownhistory-inactive
Summary: One night changed Quinn Fabray's life forever.


**before.**

This isn't exactly what she planned to do with her Friday evening. Any other night where she felt as miserable as this (which is, truth be told, every night) and she'd be curled up on the couch with a pint of Ben and Jerry's, watching the grainy VCR recordings of her mother's favorite, horribly old soap operas.

Because she's too old to watch cartoons and the Fabrays only own movies that center around Jesus – Quinn loves God, or at least the idea that He is watching over her, but she'd rather devote only one day a week to completely immersing herself in the glory her father is so convinced exists somewhere – Quinn settles in for a marathon viewing of tape after tape of overdramatized romance almost nightly.

It just makes her lonelier than she already is, but what else can she do? Her friendships, such as they are, are built on shaky foundations composed of very deliberate acting. The Cheerios feign amicability for the sake of keeping Coach Sylvester happy, but the reality of the matter is that more often than not, they all want to rip each other's throats out.

Quinn, Santana and, by extension, Brittany have this unspoken rivalry going, one that has been festering and growing since Santana and Quinn competed for the position of head cheerleader last fall – Santana won on what Quinn thinks are unfair grounds; it's clear her that Sue picks favorites but she's never worked up the courage to state the obvious and hold Sue accountable.

Now, with the start of a new year and thus the rearranging of McKinley's hierarchy, Quinn finds herself in the position of head cheerleader; she thought that her rise to power would make things easier but everything is just more complicated.

Isn't being promoted to head cheerleader status supposed to improve your life? That's what Quinn was foolish enough to believe when she first stood under the blaze of Lima's mid-August sunshine and flexed her body into impossible positions, wearing a too-short skirt, too-tight top and forced smile.

Quinn was under the impression that once she rose to the top of the cheer pyramid, she would find respect – acceptance, even – from the rest of McKinley's student body.

That hope implodes along with her carefully rehearsed smiles and nods at the exact moment a blue slushie makes cold, abrasive contact with her face.

* * *

><p>Quinn hates the aftermath of having a gigantic cup of ice tossed onto her – her skin is blue enough that she looks like she stepped straight off the set of Avatar.<p>

Saccharine aqua is still thick in Quinn's mouth; it's trailing down her skin and leaving sticky paths in its wake

When she exits the bathroom, the first thing she sees is Puck's retreating form. He turns suddenly, stopping short, and offers an apology in the only way he can – it's the barest flicker of a grimace, one Quinn can hardly see. But she knows it's there.

She wants so badly to believe that Puck is the one person in Lima who doesn't want her to stay trapped in this town forever. More than anything, she wants to have faith that one day, they'll escape.

Together?

It's too early to say.

But at night, all Quinn can manage to dream of is Puck, and she sees his smile from every angle. In these dreams, suddenly everything becomes more visceral and so real, it almost hurts – a stab sent straight to Quinn's heart, the knife of longing severing the connections between every artery and vein it can burrow itself into.

Desperate as she is, there are rare nights when Quinn thinks she can feel Puck's calloused hand curling easily around her own.

* * *

><p>When the lust buried within her is given a chance to spring out, it runs freely.<p>

Much like the events that immediately follow the explosion inside Quinn's soul, consent is never brought into the equation – at least not until the blonde's vision is fuzzy with alcohol and Puck is staring at her, his face twisted as he cries and says over and over, _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry_.

Even as Quinn glances, in her drunken stupor, at Puck and some far more analytical part of her mind slowly makes sense of it all, she still wonders why he's apologizing.

* * *

><p><strong>after.<strong>

Two weeks pass before Quinn falls to her knees in front of the toilet, wraps her arms around her belly and heaves, realization rising in her just as quickly as the vomit does.

"I didn't use a condom," Puck says to her over the phone, his voice hollow in her ear before he hangs up and Quinn has only a dial tone to confess her sins to.

Into the near silence, Quinn says, "I know."

It's the only thing she's sure of.

* * *

><p>Nine months later, she holds Beth in her arms for the first time, inhaling her clean newborn smell, and she knows one more thing with absolute certainty.<p>

This is her daughter.

Quinn's heart beats a little slower, a little sadder, as she gives Beth over to Shelby.

More than anything, she knows she was meant to guide Beth along her journey through life.

It's too late to go back on her decision.

* * *

><p>Five years go by.<p>

And on Quinn's first day teaching kindergarten at Lima Elementary, Beth Corcoran steps into Ms. Fabray's classroom, looking as though she's finally come home.


End file.
